


Anniversary

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: Octavia Street musings [14]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Anniversary, Bittersweet, F/M, Fluff, Foreshadowing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 00:22:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20805431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Spring 2006. Nick and Ilsa’s fifth wedding anniversary.





	Anniversary

“So, can you really call it a housewarming when you’ve been in three months?” Strike asked cheerfully as he stepped over the threshold of number 80 Octavia Street and kissed Ilsa warmly on the cheek.

“It’s our first party here, ergo it’s a housewarming,” Ilsa said firmly, grinning and kissing him back. “What’s this?”

Strike had handed her a cardboard box. She lifted the lid and peered into it. Two champagne flutes nestled on shredded blue paper.

Strike shrugged. “Anniversary or housewarming gift, take your pick,” he said. Ilsa slid her arm round him and squeezed him fiercely. “Thank you,” she murmured. “We weren’t expecting gifts.”

Strike grinned down at her, squeezing her back, his arm round her shoulders. “I know,” he said. “But hey, five years of being a Herbert now, that deserves recognition!” Ilsa giggled.

“Oggy!” Nick appeared from the direction of the kitchen, hand outstretched, and the two men shook hands. “How are you?”

“Yeah, good, thanks,” Strike said. “Quiet, in between assignments. Happy anniversary.”

Nick grinned. “Thanks. Don’t know how she puts up with me.” He grinned fondly at his wife, who smiled back, wrinkling her nose at him.

The three moved through to the kitchen, chatting.

There was a small collection of people already present. Claire, Ilsa’s best friend and work buddy, tall and blonde, was stood at the breakfast bar chatting to a colleague of Nick’s. Strike grinned at her, catching her eye, and cast his gaze around the rest of the room. He vaguely recognised a couple of people from past Herbert gatherings, but no-one he knew well. Then his eyes fell upon his sister, sat at the dining table.

“Luce!” He smiled at her warmly and moved across to kiss her.

“Can’t get up,” Lucy replied, grinning at him. Her youngest son - Strike forgot how old he was, a few months - was tucked under her top, feeding. Strike kissed her cheek, squeezing her shoulder, his eyes carefully on her face. His hand dropped and gently patted a little leg. “How’s my smallest nephew?”

“Growth spurt,” Lucy said succinctly. “Permanently attached.”

Strike nodded, not sure what to reply to that. “And Greg and the others?”

Lucy waved towards the patio doors. Outside, her husband was attempting to tire out two small boys in Nick and Ilsa’s little garden, chasing them around.

Strike stood and watched them for a moment. He hadn’t seen them since his duty visit when the baby was born. They grew so fast. “Christ, doesn’t Jack look like Mum?” he said quietly.

Lucy smiled mistily. “He does,” she said. “And like those baby pictures of you at Ted and Joan’s. The other two look more like Greg’s side.”

Nick appeared and handed Strike a beer. “Another glass of Schloer, Luce?” he asked.

Lucy hesitated. “Actually, Nick, I could kill for a cup of tea,” she said. “Is that too much trouble?”

Nick smiled. “No trouble at all,” he said. He took her glass and headed to put the kettle on.

Ilsa opened the oven to check the snacks, mini bhajis and samosas, little sausage rolls. Not quite done yet. As she straightened up she found Claire at her arm, reaching into the fridge for the wine bottle. She smiled fondly and laid her head on her friend’s shoulder for a brief moment.

“So,” Claire murmured out of the side of her mouth as she topped up her glass. “Where’s Charlotte?”

Ilsa snorted. “What are you like?” She giggled. “Very definitely off the scene. For good, I hope. She wasn’t very well, actually, I don’t think, was threatening to kill herself and her family took over again and admitted her to a private clinic. It’s happened before, but this was a big one, I think she really scared everyone. There was talk of having her sectioned, but I don’t know details, you know Corm doesn’t talk. But it was...gosh, must be a year ago.”

“Excellent,” Claire replied. “Well, obviously not for Charlotte,” she added, seeing Ilsa’s raised eyebrow. “But, you know—”

“I know perfectly well,” Ilsa giggled. “Yes, as far as I know, he’s single. Why don’t you two just make a go of it? You’ve had enough hook-ups over the years.”

Claire shrugged. “Just don’t feel the thing,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, I like him, he’s funny and sexy and we have a good time. But...”

Ilsa shook her head fondly. “Yeah,” she said. “Well, go for it.”

The doorbell rang again, and she glanced around. Nick was busy with the kettle, so she hurried to answer it.

Nick returned to the dining table with a mug of tea for Lucy and a pint of water.

“Oh, bless you,” Lucy said, picking up the water and downing half of it in one go. “Very perceptive of you, Dr Herbert.”

Nick grinned. “That’s uncle knowledge, not doctor knowledge,” he admitted. “My niece just turned one, and my sister drank pints and pints of water when she was feeding her. Said as soon as the baby got going, she’d suddenly be really thirsty.”

Lucy nodded. “Sounds about right.”

“Nick,” Ilsa called from the hall, and they all looked up to see Nick’s parents in the doorway. Grinning, Nick moved to kiss his mum’s cheek and shake his dad’s hand.

“We can’t stop, dear,” his mum said, hugging him fiercely. “Just wanted to pop in and give you this.” She gestured at the large pot her husband was wielding. “It’s a little apple tree. Won’t give you much yet, but in a few years—”

“Oh, wow, thanks,” Nick said, juggling to try to take the pot from his dad and shake his hand at the same time. “I’ll pop it outside.”

“Glass of wine? Cup of tea?” Ilsa asked.

“Tea would be lovely, dear, I’m taking the cab out tonight,” Nick’s dad replied. Ilsa nodded and went to put the kettle back on and take the snacks out of the oven.

Nick’s mum had spotted Strike and Lucy at the dining table and advanced on them with delight. “Hello, you two!”

“Can’t get up, sorry,” Lucy said again, indicating the baby, but Strike stood and hugged the older woman as she squeezed him tight. He hadn’t seen her in some time, but retained a deep fondness for his school mate’s mum. He’d lost count of the number of times during the turbulent last years of his own mother’s life that the Herberts had taken him in, fed him, put up the camp bed. Nick’s home had been his refuge, his parents kind and steady and accepting.

Nick’s mum sat next to Lucy and smiled at the little form lying across her lap. “So this is number three?” she said. “And all boys? How lovely. Tell me about them,” and the two were soon chatting.

Strike excused himself from the table, picking up his beer and sliding his cigarettes from his pocket. He glanced uncertainly at the garden. Lucy kept telling him how much his nephews, whom he hardly ever saw, admired their Army uncle. Probably best not to smoke in front of them, then. He went down the hall and let himself out the front door instead.

Nick’s parents didn’t stay long. They drank a mug of tea each, sampled some of the snacks Ilsa passed round, admired the house again, although they had been several times, kissed and shook hands with everyone one last time and were gone.

“We’d better go too,” Lucy said reluctantly. The baby was asleep across her lap now, and she had worked some well-practiced one-handed miracle to put her clothing back together. She waved to Greg through the patio doors, and he rounded up the boys and shepherded them in.

There was a brief, quiet interlude while the older boys ate sausage rolls and drank squash, their cheeks pink from fresh air and exercise, but they soon began to run around and shout again.

“And that’s our cue to go,” Greg said ruefully, putting down his half-finished beer. “I’ll go and load these two monkeys into the car?”

Lucy nodded. “I’ll follow,” she said. “Can you grab the nappy bag and the toys?”

Greg nodded. He waved to everyone, shook Nick’s hand and started to shepherd boisterous boys down the hall. Strike grinned. “Must be like trying to take a whirlwind everywhere with you.”

Lucy laughed, standing now, wrapping the baby in a blanket. “And about as destructive,” she admitted. “Thank you for having us,” she added to Nick and Ilsa.

“Any time,” Nick said, kissing her cheek. “Thank you for coming. See you soon.” They followed her down the hall, and she paused outside the little toilet.

“Might just go for a wee, it’s a bit of a drive,” she said. “Ilsa, could you—?”

“Sure,” Ilsa said eagerly. Lucy slid the sleeping baby into her arms and disappeared, closing the door behind her. Ilsa moved along towards the open front door, gazing down at the peaceful little face in her arms.

“Oh, Nick, look at his tiny fingernails,” she breathed, slipping the tip of her index finger into the little relaxed hand. It twitched, tightening around her finger for a moment and then loosening again.

Nick peered over her shoulder, grinning down at the sleeping figure. “They are rather lovely when they’re asleep,” he conceded with a low chuckle. “Hannah says some pretty uncomplimentary things about Emily sometimes.” Emily was his niece.

They stood for a minute, watching the baby sleep, Nick’s hand on Ilsa’s shoulder, and then suddenly Lucy was back. She laughed at them. “Getting broody, you two?”

Ilsa blushed a little and handed the baby over. “Safe journey,” she said. Greg was back at the front door, ready to take the baby to load into his car seat.

Nick slid his arm around his wife’s shoulders as they waved Greg and Lucy away, and gave her a fond squeeze.

“Right,” Ilsa said briskly. “I’m far too sober. Where’s my wine glass?”

Returning to the kitchen, they spotted Strike and Claire chatting by the patio doors. Ilsa nudged Nick and winked. “She’s making her move.”

Nick grinned. “Let’s refill everyone’s drinks, and we can relax into our own party,” he suggested. Ilsa nodded and grabbed the wine bottle from the fridge.

“So,” Claire said, grinning shamelessly up at Strike. “Are you seeing anyone?”

He laughed a little. It was a familiar dance. “No,” he conceded. “I have actually been out with this one woman a couple of times, but I’m about to be deployed again so I can’t really start anything new.”

Claire nodded, taking a sip of wine. “Do you know where you’re going this time?” She held out her almost empty glass as Ilsa approached, grinning. Nick was following with another beer for Strike.

“Afghanistan,” Strike said cheerfully.

Ilsa froze, the bottle half tilted towards Claire’s glass. “Afghanistan? Isn’t that, like, dangerous?”

He laughed a little. “I’m in the Army, Ilsa. Where do you expect them to send me, Cornwall?”

Ilsa shrugged. “It’s just you’ve been to places like Germany and Cyprus. Safer-sounding places.”

Strike nodded. “I’ve also been to places like Bosnia.” He shrugged too. “I guess it is a bit of a mess out there, but that’s why they need us.”

Nick handed him his beer. “So why do they need the military police?”

“We go most places the regular guys do, in some capacity or another. Mostly ground support to start with, but the reports coming out of Afghanistan are of irregularities on all sides, it’s such a complex situation. I won’t know exactly what I’m doing or how the land lies till I get there, but I think this could be a long one.”

Ilsa pouted a little, sliding her arm around him. “I don’t like it.”

“Nor does Lucy,” he replied, hugging her back. “Just don’t think about it too much. I go where I’m sent and do the job I’m told to do. I’ll be back, you’ll see.”

Ilsa nodded, dropping her arm away. “I think we need some music,” she said. “Where’s that speaker, Nick?”

“In the study, I think. I’ll fetch it.”

Ilsa nodded. “Let’s get this party started.” She winked at Claire as she topped up her glass, and moved on around the room.

...

“Finally,” Ilsa groaned as she pushed the dishwasher door closed and surveyed the largely tidy kitchen. It had taken her and Nick almost an hour to tidy up. “Oh, God, look at the recycling.”

“I’ll sort it in the morning,” Nick yawned. “It’s two o’clock. I need my bed.”

Ilsa nodded. “Me too.”

She slid her hand into his and they climbed the stairs together. “I didn’t see Corm leave,” she said. “I assume he went with Claire.”

Nick chortled. “I caught them in full snog by the bins when I went out with the first lot of recycling,” he said. “They left not long after, and yes, together.”

Ilsa giggled. “That was her plan the moment he arrived without Charlotte. Oh, I so need to brush my teeth.” She went into the bathroom and grabbed her toothbrush, squeezing a good line of toothpaste onto it, wandering back out into the bedroom to find her pyjamas. Nick ducked into the bathroom to pee and grab his toothbrush.

Ilsa pulled her toothbrush out of her mouth. “I’m glad your parents made it,” she called, and stuck it back in to free up her hands while she wriggled out of her jeans.

“Yeah,” he called back. “And I was impressed Lucy and Greg came, I didn’t think they would.”

Ilsa padded back into the bathroom, her legs bare, to spit into the sink. Nick squeezed her bottom affectionately and she giggled.

“Yeah,” she agreed, her mouth free again. “They’ve certainly got their hands full.”

“Cute baby.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

Ilsa grinned at him in the mirror as she put her toothbrush back in the holder and reached into her makeup bag for her birth control pills, snapping one out automatically.

Nick laid his hand gently on hers before she could raise it to her mouth. “What if—?” His eyes held hers in the mirror.

Her heart beating faster, Ilsa turned to look up at him, her eyes searching his. “What if—?”

He shrugged. “We’re settled in here. I’ve got the consultancy, my job is secure. You’re a senior lawyer now. All the things we were waiting for have happened.”

A soft smile crept across her face. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, I think I am. Are you?”

Ilsa grinned. “Yeah. Are _we_?”

He kissed her, soft and sweet. “That was never in doubt.”

“So—” Ilsa looked down at the pill in one hand and the packet in the other. She looked back up at Nick and he shrugged again, a goofy grin on his face.

Ilsa turned a little and dropped pill and packet into the bin. Unexpected tears filled her eyes, and she turned and buried her face in his shirt.

“Hey—” He hugged her close, his voice low, his arms gentle. Ilsa slid her arms around him and held him for a long time, her head resting against his chest. His heart was hammering as fast as hers. They hugged one another until calm settled over them again.

Ilsa pulled back and tilted her face to her husband’s and kissed him, slowly, lingering, then gently slid her tongue into his mouth. He growled a little and pulled her closer, his hands sliding down to her bottom to press her body to his. She grinned against his mouth and eased free to gaze up at him. “Practice run?” she murmured with a wink.

“Oh, I think we need plenty of practice.” He chuckled, took her hand in his and pulled her through to the bedroom.


End file.
